UC-NRLF 


B    M    IDM    na 


Kwan-yin 

BY  STELLA  BENSON 


CUE 

9 

• 


PP6^Y?3 


CL  THE  TEMPLE  OF  KWAN-YIN,  GODDESS 

OF  MERCY.  A  wide  altar  occupies  the  whole  of  the  ^^n  KB6 
back  of  the  stage ;  a  long  fringe  of  strips  of  yellow  ,  ^i,  ^  -> 
brocade  hangs  from  the  ceiling  to  within  3  feet  of  f>j\\]  hd 
the  floor  at  either  end  of  the  altar.  In  the  centre  of 
the  altar  the  seated  figure  of  the  goddess  is  vaguely 
visible  in  the  dimness;  only  the  the  face  is  definitely 
seen  —  a  golden  face ;  the  expression  is  passionless 
and  aloof.  A  long  table  about  12  inches  lower  than 
the  altar  stands  in  front  of  it,  right  across  the  stage. 
Ofi  the  table,  before  the  feet  of  Kwan-yin,  is  her 
carved  tablet  with  her  name  in  golden  characters  on 
a  red  lacquer  ground.  In  front  of  the  tablet  is  a  large 
brass  bowl  full  of  joss-sticks  the  smoke  of  which 
wavers  in  the  air  &  occasionally  obscures  the  face  ot 
Kwan-yin.  There  are  several  plates  of  waxen  look- 
ing fruit  &  cakes  on  the  table  &  two  horn  lanterns 
— these  are  the  only  light  in  the  scene.  On  either 
side  of  Kwan-yin,  between  the  table  and  the  altar, 
there  is  a  pillar  with  a  gilded  wooden  dragon  twist- 
ed round  it,  head  downward.  To  the  left:,  forward, 
is  a  large  barrel -shaped  drum  slung  on  a  carved 
blackwood  stand. 

Four  priests  &  two  acolytes  are  seen  like  shadows 
before  this  palely  lit  background.  One  acolyte  to  the 


iViM.>.SM 


rightofthetablebeatsalittlehoarsebcll.Thishedoes 
during  the  course  of  the  whole  scene,  in  the  follow- 
ing rhythm: — 7-8-20-7-8-20.  He  should  reach  the 
105th  beat  at  the  end  of  the  second  hymn  to  Kwan- 
yin.The  other  acolyte  stands  by  the  drum  and  beats 
it  softly  at  irregular  intervals  as  indicated.  The  aco- 
lytes are  little  boys  in  long  blue  coats.The  four  priests 
stand  at  the  table  with  their  faces  toward  Kwan-yin; 
their  robes  are  pale  dull  pink  silk  with  a  length  of 
deeper  apricot  pink  draped  about  the  shoulders. 

The  priests  kneel  and  kow-tow  to  Kwan-yin. 
The  acolytes  sing: 

The  voice  of  pain  is  weak  and  thin 

And  yet  it  never  dies. 

Kwan-yin  —  Kwan-yin 

Has  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Be  comforted  ....  be  comforted  .... 

Be  comforted,  my  dear  .... 

Never  a  heart  too  dead 

For  Kwan-yin  to  hear. 

A  pony  with  a  ragged  skin 
Falls  beneath  a  load ; 
Kwan-yin  —  Kwan-yin 


Runs  down  the  road. 
A  comforter  ....  a  comforter  .... 
A  comforter  shall  come  .... 
No  pain  too  mean  for  her; 
No  grief  too  dumb. 

Man's  deserts  and  man's  sin 

She  shall  not  discover. 

Kwan-yin — Kwan-yin — 

Is  the  world's  lover. 

Ah,  thief  of  pain  ....  thou  thief  of  pain  . .    . . 

Thou  thief  of  pain,  come  in. 

Never  a  cry  in  vain, 

Kwan-yin — Kwan-yin  .... 

First  priest — tenor — chants: 

Is  she  then  a  warrior  against  sin  .^ 

On  what  field  does  she  plant  her  banner.^ 

Bears  she  a  sword? 

First  and  second  priests    tenor  and  bass  —chant: 
The  world  is  very  full  of  battle; 
The  speared  and  plumed  forests  in  their  ranks 

besiege  the  mountains ; 
The  flooded  fields  like  scimitars  lie  between 

the  breasts  of  the  mountains. 


The  mists  ride  on  bugling  winds  down  the 

mountains. 
Shall  not  Kwan-yin  bear  a  sword? 

Third  priest— tenor— chants: 

Kwan-yin  is  no  warrior. 

Kwan-yin  bears  no  sword. 

Even  against  sin 

Kwan-yin  has  no  battle. 

This  is  her  banner— a  new  day,  a  forgetting 
hour. 

Her  hands  are  empty  of  weapons  and  out- 
stretched to  the  world. 

Her  feet  are  set  on  lotus  flowers, 

The  lotus  flowers  are  set  on  a  pale  lake. 

And  the  lake  is  filled  with  thetearsoftheworld. 

Kwan-yin  is  still,  she  is  very  still,  she  listens 
always, 

Kwan-yin  lives  remembering  tears. 

At  this  point  the  smoke  of  the  joss-sticks  veils  the 
face  of  Kwan-yin.  A  woman's  voice  sings: 

Wherefore  remember  tears? 

Shall  tears  be  dried  by  remembrance? 


This  voice  is  apparently  not  heard  by  the  priests  and 
acolytes. 

First  and  third  priests  chant: 

Ah,  Kwan-yin,  mother  of  love, 

Remember 

Those  in  pain. 

Those  who  are  held  fast  in  pain  of  their  own 

or  another's  seeking. 
Those  for  whom  the  world  is  too  difficult 
And  too  beautiful  to  bear, 

All: 

Kwan-yin,  remember,  remember. 

First  and  third  priests: 

Those  who  are  blind,  who  shall  never  read  the 
writing  upon  the  fierce  rivers. 

Who  shall  never  see  the  slow  flowing  of  the 
stars  from  mountain  to  mountain. 

Those  who  are  deaf,  whom  music  and  the 
fellowship  of  words  have  forsaken 

All: 

Kwan-yin,  remember,  remember. 


First  and  third  priests: 

Those  whose  love  is  buried  and  broken; 

All  those  under  the  sun  who  lack  the  thing 

that  they  love 
And  under  the  moon  cry  out  because  of  their 

lack, 

All: 

Kwan-yin,  remember. 

First  priest: 

Oh  thou  taker  away  of  pain, 
Thou  taker  away  of  tears. .  . . 

The  smoke  quivers  across  Kwan-yin's  face  again,  and 
the  same  woman's  voice  sings: 

Wherefore  remember  the  desolate? 

Is  there  a  road  of  escape  out  of  the  unending 

wilderness? 
Can  Kwan-yin  find  a  way  where  there  is  no 

way? 

Still  the  voice  is  unheard  by  the  worshippers.  First 
priest  sings,  and  while  he  sings  the  acolyte  beats  the 
drum  softly  at  quick  irregular  intervals. 


Kwan-yin  shall  come,  shall  come, 

Surely  she  shall  come, 

To  bring  content  and  a  new  diamond  day  to 

the  desolate, 
To  bring  the  touch  of  hands  &  the  song  of  birds 
To  those  who  walk  terribly  alone. 
To  part  the  russet  earth  and  the  fingers  of  the 

leaves  in  the  spring 
That  they  may  give  up  their  treasure. 
To  those  who  faint  for  lack  of  such  treasure 
To  listen  to  the  long  complaining  of  the  old 

and  the  unwanted. 
To  bring  lover  to  lover  across  the  world, 
Thrusting  the  stars  aside  and  cleaving  the  seas 

and  the  mountains. 
To  hold  up  the  high  paths  beneath  the  feet  of 

travellers. 
To  keep  thepersuading  roar  of  waters  from  the 

ears  of  the  broken-hearted. 
To  bring  a  smile  to  the  narrow  lips  of  death, 
To  make  beautiful  the  eyes  of  death. 

A  woman's  voice  again  sings,  unheeded,  from  be- 
hind the  veil  of  smoke. 

Wherefore  plead  with  death? 


Who  shall  soften  the  terrible  heart  of  death? 
All,  in  urgent  but  slow  unison : 

Kwan-yin. 
Kwan-yin. 
Kwan-yin. 
Kwan-yin. 

The  golden  face  of  Kwan-yin  above  the  altar  changes 
suddenly  and  terribly,  and  becomes  like  a  masque  of 
fear.  The  lanterns  flare  spasmodically.  The  voice  can 
now  be  identified  as  Kwan-yin's,  but  still  the  priests 
stand  unhearing  with  their  heads  bowed,  and  still 
the  passionless  bell  rings. 
Kwan-yin,  in  a  screaming  voice : 

Ah,  be  still,  be  still 

I  am  Kwan-yin. 

I  am  Mercy. 

Mercy  is  defeated. 

Mercy  who  battled  not,  is  defeated. 

She  is  a  captive  bound  to  the  chariot  of  pain. 

Sorrow  has  set  his  foot  upon  her  neck. 

Sin  has  mocked  her. 

Turn  away  thine  eyes  from  Mercy, 

From  poor  Mercy. 


Woo  her  no  more. 
Cry  upon  her  no  more. 

There  is  an  abrupt  moment  of  silence  as  the  hght 
becomes  dim  again  &  Kwan-yin's  face  is  frozen  still. 
Then  the  first  priest  sings. 

What  then  are  Mercy's  gifts?  The  rose-red  slopes 
Of  hills  ....  the  secret  twisted  hands  of  trees? 
Shall  not  the  moon&the  stars  redeem  lost  hopes? 
What  fairer  gifts  shall  Mercy  bring  than  these? 

For,  in  the  end,  when  our  beseeching  clamor 
Dies  with  our  bells ;  when  fear  devours  our  words; 
Lo,  she  shall  come  &  hold  the  night  with  glamor, 
Lo,  she  shall  come  &  sow  the  dawn  with  birds. 

Ah  thou  irrelevant  saviour,  ah  thou  bringer 
Of  treasure  from  the  empty  sky,  ah  thou 
Who  ans  werest  death  with  song,  shall  such  a  singer 
Be  silent  now?  Shall  thou  be  silent  now? 

The  105th  beat  of  the  bell  is  now  reached  and  there 
is  a  pause  in  the  ringing. 

All: 

KWAN-YIN. 


The  bell  is  rung  slowly  diree  times.  Then  there  is 
absolute  silence.  There  is  now  a  tenseness  in  the 
attitudes  of  all  the  worshippers,  they  lean  forward 
and  look  with  suspense  into  Kwan-yin's  quite  im- 
passive golden  face. 

The  lights  go  out  suddenly. 


One  hundred  copies  printed  by 

Edwin  Grabhorn,  San  Francisco,  in  April,  1922. 

Bound  by  Florence  Grabhorn. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LIBRARY  USE 

JAN  2 1  1952 


LlBl^Afyy  n 


tr 


APR  9 

iNTERLlB 


1954 


UNIV.  OF  c 


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8EC.  CHt   NOV  i  0  1979 


LD  21-95m-ll,'50(2877sl6)476 


HECEIVED  M  i 


^^X>  BY 

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